Birds of a Feather
by cmar
Summary: What if Bruce Wayne hadn't gone to the circus the night the Flying Graysons were murdered? Will Batman and Nightwing find that a common purpose still binds them together? Complete.
1. For Want of a Nail

Batman/Bruce Wayne, Nightwing/Dick Grayson, Alfred, Kathy Kane, James Gordon, and Anthony Zucco belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
Any others you don't recognize are mine.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : language; violence. 

Everyone knows the original Robin's origin: his parents were murdered during their circus act by a criminal named 'Boss' Zucco. Dick Grayson overheard Zucco's gang threatening the circus owner; Bruce Wayne, who happened to be in the audience, took him in and helped him get revenge. But what if Bruce hadn't been there? Would Batman have taken such an interest in Zucco at that time if it hadn't been personal? What would the adult Dick Grayson be like, without Batman's help and influence? 

Based on the comics of the 40's and 50's, with some elements from the present-day version. The other Robins, Batgirls; all other costumed members of the Bat-family have been omitted, mostly to keep this pure and simple. The original Batwoman has been included only in her civilian identity of Kathy Kane. Alfred includes some aspects of his original incarnation as a Cockney ex-music hall actor and aspiring detective. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Birds of a Feather

* * *

* * *

For Want of a Nail

* * *

His workout was done. His shower taken. No real need to go out tonight, as Batman. Bruce Wayne sat down behind the large desk in his study and pulled the newspaper over, quickly scanning the headlines, then the lesser stories on the following pages. Nothing to interest him... He spent a few more minutes leafing through it, his mind already drifting. 

_Haly Circus presents..._ That caught his eye. A circus. A small one, but he vaguely remembered seeing the name. As an accomplished amateur acrobat, he tended to keep track of such things, alongside the many miscellaneous items Batman kept track of. And there was another interesting tidbit in the advertisement he had turned to. _The Flying Graysons..._ With the only ten-year-old in the world who could perform the triple somersault, or so it said. 

His lips turned in a smile. It was undoubtedly an exaggeration; the boy was probably more like twelve, or older. Still, it was an accomplishment for any acrobat at any age, and worth seeing. If it was true. His eye dropped to the location. Newton. Not quite a suburb of Gotham, but not a forbidding distance away. Still, it had been a long day, he was tired, and he had to be up fairly early in the morning. 

Even as he put the paper down, Bruce hesitated. When was the last time he had done something just for fun? When was the last time he had gotten out of town? In his years of training, and especially since first taking up the identity of the Batman only a year ago, he never seemed to find the time for anything relaxing, anything that wasn't strictly necessary. Even the parties and other social functions he attended were just a part of his cover, a part of his identity as Bruce Wayne. He didn't even enjoy them, not really; hours spent with people who didn't have a serious thought in their empty heads -- people who might as well be Martians for all he had in common with them. Sometimes he could almost see the barrier between himself and them... it occurred to him briefly that he was lonely, but the thought was of no use, and he discarded it. 

Tonight -- it would make more sense to get some extra sleep -- but his natural restlessness argued for a night out, for the bright lights, the noise, the garish showmanship of the circus; the clowns, tumblers, acrobats, the pretty women in tight and skimpy costumes... To lose himself in that artificial world, a creation made only for entertainment, but perhaps more real than the world he lived in -- divided between night and day -- between the dark, grimy alleyways Batman lived in and the glittering, rarefied social atmosphere of Bruce Wayne. 

But even as he tried to estimate exactly how long it would take to drive to Newton and back, a yawn took him unawares, stretching his jaws. Maybe sleep should come first, after all. With a decisive gesture, he closed and folded the paper. Maybe some other time. The circus would have to do without Bruce Wayne tonight. It wasn't like it was important, after all... not like it would make any real difference in his life, or anyone else's... 

* * *

**_Nine years later:_**

He could hear them, when it was too late. Coming up behind him. As he turned, there they were, spreading out to cut off any path of escape. Batman backed off, instinctively sizing up the situation. A blind alley, a wall behind his back, the only illumination coming from the moon and a couple of lights out on the street. A garbage can and bags in a cluster about ten feet away. And six hard-faced and determined-looking men advancing on him. He was outnumbered, certainly. But he'd been in considerably worse situations. 

Batman let the light fall on his face as he smiled, just a little, seeing them blink, perhaps starting to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. He waited, watching; no guns, not yet. They probably had instructions to eliminate him quietly, no witnesses, no noise to attract passersby or the police. Instead, reflections glinted off the knives the six of them were carrying. They were welcome to try -- but they'd have to be fast, and skillful, before any of those blades would sink home. 

A tall man wearing a knit cap took the lead, approaching slowly, tossing his knife from hand to hand a couple of times; a showy move that might have been impressive to a less experienced fighter. Batman waited for him, the wall protecting his back but not close enough to interfere when he had to move. Two others, one with dirty blond hair and one with long black hair in a ponytail, took up positions on either side of Knit Cap. They paused, obviously gathering themselves for the attack. And then it began. 

Knit Cap lunged suddenly, but his eyes had given him away; Batman pivoted, blocked his arm, grabbed his wrist, kicked his feet out from under him and let the motion carry him into the wall head-first with a crack. A quick spin, a side-kick, and Blond Man was watching his knife sail into the air. Batman ducked under Ponytail's attempt to slash him and drove a fist into his stomach, doubling him over. 

Then two long running steps to the garbage pile, the other three right behind him. Batman grabbed the lid off the can, twisted, and threw it in a spinning backhand, to catch one across the chest, sending him reeling. With a kick he sent the can itself rolling and bouncing, driving the other two back. They retreated a few steps, but one of them reversed his knife, raising it by the blade, then his arm snapping forward. 

It was close; the thrown knife would have hit him in the throat; the guy was good... Batman dodged and ducked, escaping injury, but the move threw him off balance, to fall to one knee. When he looked up again, he faced the barrels of two guns. Apparently they were more afraid of him than of attracting the attention of the police. He crouched, watching fingers tightening on trigger fingers, his own fingers reaching for a batarang and ready to move when the moment came, hoping he'd be fast enough, and that his luck would not run out tonight in this dirty alleyway, so like that other... 

But then something unexpected happened, a small disk barely visible in the semi-darkness seemed to fly out of nowhere, striking the gun hand of the man nearest him, bringing a cry of pain. Even before the pistol hit the ground, another small missile streaked into the other gunman's hand. And another, hitting Blond Man in the forearm as he turned back to the fight after picking up his knife. A fourth lodged in Ponytail's shoulder as he started to straighten up. 

"Let's get out of here!" With that shout, the four of them turned and ran. In seconds they were gone, leaving Knit Cap and the man who had been hit by the garbage can lid lying on the dirty concrete, unconscious. 

Batman stood, for an instant tempted to go after them, but then he turned. Those had been some kind of throwing stars, and they had come from above him. As he looked up at the roof of the one-story building behind him, a dark form appeared, barely visible as it stood at the edge, outlined in the silvery glimmer of moonlight. A man, dressed in form-fitting black except for a dark blue 'V' across his chest, the stripe of color continuing down the outsides of his arms to the fingertips of his gloves. Thick cuffs circled his forearms and the tops of his boots. Otherwise the costume was unadorned. A black mask covered his eyes, his hair was dark and short. They stared at each other for a few silent moments, until the man stepped back and disappeared. 

* * *

"The same man we've heard rumours of, sir?" Alfred's voice was as cool and dignified as usual, his cultured British accent almost hiding the traces of Cockney that were the only signs left of his relatively humble origins. 

"I'm sure of it. Fits the description of the costume. And that picture." Bruce frowned. Only one picture had been taken of the mysterious new crimefighter in town, a blurry and indistinct snapshot of what appeared to be a man in black and midnight blue, leaping spectacularly from one rooftop to another. 

"The papers reported he told his name to some criminal he encountered." 

"Yes. Nightwing." Bruce looked down at the object he was absently turning between his fingers. One of the modified throwing stars his rescuer had used, shaped into what might be a stylized bat. "I remember." 

"Obviously he's patterned himself after you, sir." 

Bruce frowned. "The last thing I need is someone getting himself killed trying to copy _me_." 

"He appears to have handled himself quite well so far." 

Bruce sighed. True enough, his imitator had done well, popping out of the shadows a few times to rescue mugging victims and the like. He seemed able to fight, and to use a simple weapon like these 'stars'. And he seemed at home on a rooftop. But if anyone knew the dangers involved in this line of work, it was Bruce. Too dangerous for just anyone, too dangerous to even consider unless you were fully prepared to die doing it. Sometimes Bruce was frankly amazed he had survived over ten years of it. 

"Maybe," he answered finally. "But he probably has no idea of what he's gotten himself into. If only I could talk some sense into him..." 

"He seems to have interested himself in the same case you're working on now. I read that he's also interfered with some of Zucco's operations." 

"Mmm. Yes, and those were Zucco's men tonight. I guess I've become an inconvenience to Anthony Zucco. One too many times I've interrupted his boys while they were leaning on some shopkeeper for protection money. He tried to get rid of me." 

"Perhaps one of the men you captured will roll on him." 

Bruce smiled. It always sounded strange when Alfred used the slang he picked up from cop shows, and from Bruce himself. "Perhaps. But they're probably much too afraid of him." He stood up and stretched. "Been a long day. And night. Anything around to eat?" 

"Of course, sir." Alfred sounded faintly scandalized at the idea that there might not be a meal waiting at any time it was wanted. 

"Great. You coming up?" 

"As soon as I clear up down here." 

"Okay." 

Bruce climbed the stairs to the door leading into the house, concealed on the other side by a Grandfather clock in his study, the stray thought crossing his mind once again of what his society friends might make of his 'hobby'. On the other side, he paused to flip on the lights, his gaze rising automatically to the portrait hanging over the fireplace in the small room. A good-looking young couple, the woman's smile sparkling with humor; the man's more serious; his gray eyes, so like Bruce's, seeming to stare back. The picture was there as a reminder, there for him to see every time he came up from the Batcave, in case his purpose ever wavered... He looked for only a moment, before heading for the kitchen, but as always he carried the image in his mind. 

Nightwing. Imitating him... Bruce frowned as he bent to look inside the refrigerator and found the inevitable plate of sandwiches Alfred had left for him, neatly covered to keep them fresh. He set it on the table and crossed to the counter where the coffeepot was also prepared and waiting for him to turn it on, then returned to take his seat and pick up a sandwich. 

Somehow the possibility had never occurred to him. The idea that someone else might want to take on the sort of life he led seemed so absurd, he had trouble believing it even now, when he had seen the evidence with his own eyes. The hard work, the danger... Would it seem glamorous to someone who saw only the costume, the fancy car, the newspaper stories? Someone who didn't count on the late nights, the frustration, the boredom and detail that was a large part of any detective work. The danger, the terrifyingly close encounters with death; the times he had limped home, bruised and bleeding. The guilt when someone else got hurt -- or killed -- despite his best efforts. 

Footsteps announced Alfred's arrival. They went to the counter and paused, then came to his side. A hand lowered a cup of coffee to the table. "I don't see how you ever sleep, with all the coffee you pour into yourself," the butler murmured. "Not to mention the possible health effects." 

Bruce smiled absently. They went through the same ritual most nights, the same gentle criticism. Alfred was such a mother hen, it was a shame he didn't have children. "Everyone's got to have at least one bad habit," he answered. 

"Hmm." The sound clearly expressed disapproval. Then, "How is the case coming? Any leads?" 

"Not much so far. A few hints that something's up, but nothing definite." 

"Unfortunate... What are you going to do?" Alfred was still standing over him -- when the subject had come up in the past he had announced in a coolly superior tone that it wasn't 'fitting' for him to sit at table with his employer, and Bruce had long ago given up on changing his mind -- but his voice was lively with interest. 

"Keep digging, of course. Start spending some time as Matches, for a start." Bruce glanced up at his butler's face with hidden amusement. Alfred was considerably more colorful than he at first appeared; besides a distant past as a stage actor, he had ambitions of being a detective. Ambitions that were currently channeled into an enthusiastic interest in Batman's activities. 

"Zucco has a nasty habit of causing accidents, as I recall, just to prove he means business." 

"Yes. A very nasty habit. Especially when he doesn't particularly care who gets hurt." Bruce took another sip of coffee. Zucco was quickly becoming his prime target. The protection racket he ran had already left a trail of bodies behind him, stretching back to the small town north of the city where he had started out about ten years ago. Now that he was firmly established in Gotham City itself, he seemed to be slowly expanding his operations. "He's a slippery bastard. I'd love to nail him," he muttered. 

"Perhaps you'll have better luck tomorrow, sir." 

"Perhaps." Bruce got up. "Goodnight, Alfred." He headed through the kitchen door, his mind already on plans for the next day, barely hearing Alfred say goodnight in return. 

* * *

TBC... 


	2. A Night on the Town

Batman/Bruce Wayne, Nightwing/Dick Grayson, Alfred, Kathy Kane, James Gordon, and Anthony Zucco belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
Any others you don't recognize are mine.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : language; violence. 

A few people have asked for details on the setup of this story. This really should be considered an AU; it's a 'what if', but also mostly based on the Batman comics of the 40's and 50's. To summarize: 

This takes place in the present day, or perhaps a few years ago. Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson never met nine years ago when Dick's parents were murdered, therefore Bruce never became Dick's guardian, Robin never existed, and Batman and Robin never brought Boss Zucco to justice at that time. It includes *only* the Golden/early Silver Age characters: Bruce/Batman, Dick, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, and Kathy Kane. The other members of the Bat-family never entered Bruce's life or took up costumed careers, perhaps because they didn't have the example of the first Robin. Bruce is relatively isolated, perhaps because he didn't have Dick's socializing influence. 

Any differences from current canon are probably because I'm starting from the Golden Age version of the characters and their origins. Think of it as taking the Batman and Robin of the 1940's, modernizing them, and giving their story a twist. 

All of that said, let's get on with it... 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Birds of a Feather

* * *

* * *

A Night on the Town

* * *

"Come on, Bruce. You've hardly said a word for twenty minutes." 

"Have I? Sorry. What would you like me to say?" 

"Well..." She squinted at him in pretended concentration. "You could tell me how exquisitely wonderful I look." 

He smiled at her. "Kathy, you know you always look great. You don't need _me_ to tell you." 

She stuck her tongue out at him briefly. She did look great. A soft, cream-colored dress complemented her dark hair and warm eyes, which at the moment were sparkling at him in amusement. 

"I have to look good if I'm going out on the town with the _famous_ Bruce Wayne." 

Bruce grimaced slightly. "Just because some idiot wrote one article about me..." 

"Gotham's most eligible bachelor. You should feel honored." 

"Yeah, I'm honored all right. The whole idea's ridiculous." 

"Well, _I'm_ honored. Humble little Kathy Kane, dating Gotham's most eligible bachelor." 

He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her, trying to let her teasing have its usual relaxing effect on him. He was out having dinner in an excellent restaurant, with a beautiful, intelligent woman. She deserved better than a man who couldn't keep his mind off the latest criminal he wanted to put behind bars. And maybe he himself deserved to have a good time once in a while. 

"'Humble little Kathy Kane,' my ass. I seem to remember an article about _you_, recently. 'Beautiful ex-circus star becomes millionairess.'" 

"No fair digging up my disgraceful past. And I can't help it if my uncle left me all that money." She frowned. "Sometimes I wish he hadn't. It's been quite an adjustment, going from poor to rich. From a circus tent to a mansion. Maybe I should have stayed where I was." 

"I'm glad you didn't." She smiled at him. After a moment Bruce went on. "Is it really that hard to adjust?" 

She picked up her glass of champagne, looking into the bubbling liquid thoughtfully. "Sometimes. It's a whole new life. A different kind of people. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever fit in. If I'll ever be like everyone else." Her face more serious now, she set the glass down. 

"Don't." Bruce startled himself with the sharpness of his reply, and saw Kathy raise surprised eyes to his. He smiled, and tried to regain his casual tone. "You don't want to be just another empty-headed socialite, like me." 

"Empty-headed? You? I don't think so." She gave him an uncomfortably perceptive glance as she picked up her fork again. 

"Speaking of which, I completely forgot to mention I have an appointment later. I'll have to take you home after dinner." 

"An appointment?" Again she eyed him sharply. "What kind of appointment could you have this time of night?" 

"Some business associates -- in town for the night, I have to show them around..." He shrugged vaguely. 

"Seems very late to conduct business." 

"Well, you know how it is, have to do some socializing to grease the wheels." 

"I'm not at all sure I know 'how it is.' You keep doing this." Some of the warmth had left her eyes. 

"Look, I'm sorry, but I do have some duties for the Wayne Foundation, including things that tend to come up at the last minute. I'll make it up to you." 

"Bruce Wayne, sometimes I think you keep things from me." But she didn't argue further, just smiled again briefly and returned her attention to her dinner. He was almost disappointed. This was one of the reasons he enjoyed their relationship; she put up with his unexplained absences and occasional hasty exits from their dates without much of a fuss -- but -- he had started to wish she cared enough to be upset, or to suspect he was seeing another woman. 

Just for a moment, he wanted to tell her. To really talk to her, to share the deeper aspects of his life, to be honest. But of course that was impossible. Bruce Wayne didn't really have a life, in a sense Bruce Wayne didn't really exist. He was just a safe haven for the Batman. A twinge of longing came and went, for someone to confide in, someone who could understand what went on in his mind. There was Alfred, certainly, but there was no way he could know what it felt like, out there, behind the mask. No one else knew, no one else could understand. 

* * *

Ah, the glamour of crime-fighting. Bruce tried in vain to find a more comfortable position on the barstool he was occupying, and stared moodily into his beer. A lot of it was just like this, hanging around some smoke-filled dive in the middle of the night, in disguise, pretending to get drunk, pretending not to be doing his best to listen in on the conversations around him. Waiting for a chance to talk to someone who might know something useful. 

He was in one of his favorite disguises; 'Matches' Malone, a disreputable character who was often seen in places like this one, lurking around the edges of the various gangs, making occasional attempts to join in. Matches was a fixture in the Gotham underworld, usually ignored or brushed off, not considered a serious player but also not considered a danger. Which was exactly the way Bruce wanted it. 

He moved slightly, leaning on the bar to get a better view of the three men who had walked in a few minutes ago and sat down at a nearby table. Two of them he recognized; one was descriptively nicknamed Snake, the other was his friend Mr. Ponytail from the previous night. The third -- was unfamiliar, a young man, late teens or early twenties, good-looking, dark-haired, a hint of youthful softness in his face, around average height and slim but athletically built. A newcomer to the Gotham crime scene. He couldn't have started out with a worse bunch of friends. And maybe he knew it; Bruce's perceptive eye caught a trace of nervousness in his expression as he got up and came to the bar. 

A moment later they were next to each other as the young man leaned in between stools to shout an order to the bartender. As he waited, he seemed to become aware of Bruce's stare, and gave him a glance which was both curious and mildly hostile. 

"New here?" Bruce asked. "Never seen ya before." 

"Yeah. New." Now the man was staring back, not friendly, but not quite angry. 

"Thought I knew everyone who hangs out in this dump. I'm Matches." He stuck out a none-too-clean hand. 

The young man frowned at it for a moment, but then took it firmly. "Robbie," he said. 

"Robbie. You don't say much, do ya?" 

"Nope." But this time he smiled, his face coming alive with sudden humor. 

"I see you're with Snake and his friend. Zucco's boys." 

Caution hardened the young man's expression again. "You know them?" he asked. 

"We're acquainted. Done a couple things together." 

"Really?" Robbie's lids dropped over a sudden gleam of interest. 

"Yeah, you know, I've done them a favor here and there." He leaned closer and dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Talkin' about their operations, aren't you? For tonight? The next coupla days?" 

Now there was a suspicious light in the dark eyes that met his. "Why don't you talk about that with them in person?" 

"Maybe I don't need to. Maybe I'm already in on it." He let his voice slur slightly and raised his beer to his lips. 

"Yeah, maybe you are." Robbie shot him a look that contained a hint of contempt, almost completely hidden. He turned his head to look for the bartender. 

"You new in town?" Bruce asked on impulse. 

"Been here a while." 

"And you're already in with Zucco. A tough crowd." 

"Yeah. I guess they are." Again that expression of discomfort crossed Robbie's features. 

Bruce said it against his better judgment, almost without thinking, but there was something about this kid... "You don't seem like the same kind as them, somehow." 

Robbie's face closed like a shutter, his eyes becoming hard and cold. "Well, that's really none of your business, is it?" he said, tossing money on the bar and scooping up his drinks. 

"Hey, no offense." 

"Forget it." After a last glance, he returned to his companions. 

"Well, that went well," Bruce muttered to himself. 

* * *

It took the three of them another hour to finish their drinks, finish their conversation, and finally get up and leave. Bruce waited long enough for them to get a block away, long enough for it not to be obvious that he was following them, and then slipped out. Outside the door he paused, looking up and down the street. It was silent for the moment, with the hushed quality of late night in a dangerous neighborhood, where decent people dared not go out after dark. 

Movement at the corner, three men getting into a dark blue sedan. It was them. Bruce hurried to his own car, a small, cheap model, meant to be inconspicuous. Seconds later he was pulling out, keeping a safe distance between himself and his quarry, following them down dark streets with barely enough traffic to conceal him from them. But the pursuit didn't last long; they pulled over in a side street in a different area, one which was poor and working class but respectable. 

Another two men were waiting, moving a few steps out of the shadows cloaking the city night to confer with the three from the car. Bruce kept an eye on them as he passed by, turning the next corner and quickly finding a parking spot. Then he slipped back, finding a spot across the street where he could watch, hidden in the darkness of a doorway. 

Robbie had already left the others, he was turning into a back alley that cut behind a closed and gated restaurant. As he disappeared, the other four produced the tools of their trade from various pockets; crowbars, pipes, guns... They approached the restaurant door, taking only minutes to pry the gate apart and force the lock, then vanished inside. 

Bruce began to move away, searching for a more private pool of darkness where he would be safe from prying eyes, where he could take on his real identity... 

"Hold it, creep." The voice was quiet, pitched too low for anyone else to hear. Bruce spun towards the source, startled, wondering who could have possibly sneaked up on _him_ without being heard... 

"You!" A dark form, black with a midnight blue 'V' across the chest. Up close, Bruce realized he was young, perhaps around twenty. Young -- but not to be taken lightly, judging by his performance the previous night. 

"Glad you recognize me. And I know _you_. Matches, I presume?" 

"Yeah... what do you want?" 

"Just a little information. What's your connection with what's going down tonight?" He nodded towards the restaurant. 

"Nothing. Just an innocent bystander." 

"Yeah, sure. You know something. Tell me." Nightwing took a step closer, his attitude threatening despite his disadvantage of several inches of height and quite a few pounds of bulk. 

"None of your business, kid. I got other things to do, so if you'll excuse me..." Bruce retreated, melting into the shadows. But Nightwing was too fast, he was on top of him in a heartbeat, grabbing for his jacket collar... 

Bruce fell back, turned, blocked the grab, and kicked out, hitting Nightwing in the midsection just hard enough to stop him. The other man recovered quickly, dropping back a step and then pivoting and turning to kick back, aiming for his knees. Bruce dodged, to see Nightwing smoothly continue the motion and spin into a sweeping kick with the other leg, and then a lunge, hands reaching. A quick movement and Bruce had his opponent's wrist in his grip. A step to the side, and Nightwing's arm was twisted behind him. As a gloved hand reached back for one of the escrima sticks visible in holders on Nightwing's back, Bruce grabbed his other wrist, pushed him down to his knees, and heard him gasp with shock as he found himself helpless. 

"You're good, kid. But you've got a way to go before you're as good as I am," Bruce said, deliberately letting his voice sink into the lower, silkier tones Batman used. 

"Who -- who _are_ you?" Nightwing's voice was pure astonishment and disbelief. 

"I probably could have saved my own neck last night. But thanks for the help." 

"_Batman?_" 

"Not so loud. One of the first things you learn in this business is never to give yourself away." 

"Like you just did?" 

The kid was quick. With a low chuckle, Bruce released him. "You didn't give me much choice. What are you doing here, anyway?" 

"The same as you, I guess. After Zucco and his boys." 

"Well, now you can go home, can't you? I've got it covered." 

"No way in hell, pal. I'm in on this." 

They glared at each other. Bruce noted the way Nightwing's eyes were examining his face... "Forget it, kid. This isn't even close to the way I really look." 

"Stop calling me _kid_." 

Bruce smiled in spite of himself. "Well, if you won't leave, I guess at least I can make sure you don't get yourself killed. Go around to the back and take out the guy they posted back there-" 

"I already took care of him." 

"Okay. I'm going into this alley to change. You're going to wait right here. Then follow me. And try not to get in my way." 

* * *

It was easy to pry a window open and slip in, with the amount of noise the gang inside was making. Batman dropped to the floor and found cover behind a table, hearing only a soft thump as Nightwing landed and joined him. They watched for a moment. 

The four men were systematically vandalizing the place. Ponytail was moving down the bar, sweeping glasses off to shatter on the floor in a burst of slivers, sparkling in the flashlights they were using. Snake lifted a chair and smashed it over a small table, breaking off the back and a leg. He picked up another and repeated the process. A loud crash announced that the other two were in the kitchen, on a similar mission. 

"Come on..." Nightwing said, half-rising. 

"Slow down." 

"We can get these two while the others are busy in the kitchen." 

It made sense. "Okay," Batman said. "You take Snake, I'll take the guy with the ponytail." 

Nightwing moved off immediately. Batman watched him for a few seconds, noting the way he kept out of sight, ducking from the shadow of one table to another. Satisfied, he started for his own target. Ponytail was still busy, now picking up bottles from behind the bar, inspecting each one before throwing it away, then stopping long enough to open one and take a long drink. He grinned, and lifted it again. 

"Good stuff? Better than you're used to, I'll bet." 

The ponytailed man froze in mid swallow and spun around, dropping the bottle. Batman stepped from the shadows, watching both of the vandals, and saw both reach into their jackets. He was ready, a quick flip of the wrist sent a batarang slicing into Ponytail's forearm, forcing him to drop the gun before he even had it clear. Snake jumped and cursed as one of Nightwing's modified throwing stars struck him. 

A couple of running strides and Batman was reaching across the bar, grabbing and dragging his opponent over it, dumping him into the litter of broken glass on the floor. He heard a cry of pain without feeling remorse, kicked the man down as he tried to get back to his feet, and then hit him with controlled precision. A quick glance showed Nightwing using one of his escrima sticks, blocking Snake as he swung a clumsy punch, then rapping him on the side of the head. Both criminals dropped, to lie inert. 

There was only time for them to exchange a nod and slide back into the shadows as the other two came running out of the kitchen. It wasn't much of a fight; Batman threw a bottle to shatter on the back of one thief's head and then knocked him out as he tried to locate his attacker; Nightwing abandoned his weapon, maybe in imitation, and took down the other man with a quick kick, chop, and flip. They stood for a moment, watchful, but it was over. 

"Here." Batman tossed two pairs of handcuffs to his temporary partner and bent over Ponytail. "We'll cuff 'em to the nearest heavy objects and get out of here. I'll call the cops. I'm sure they'll be very interested in hearing these punks explain what they're doing here. Maybe they'll even give up something useful on Zucco-" When he looked up, the room was empty except for himself and the four unconscious gangsters, all now securely handcuffed. 

Batman shook his head, lips twisting in a half smile. "Gone. Damn. Thought that was supposed to be _my_ trick..." 

* * *

TBC... 


	3. Conversations

Batman/Bruce Wayne, Nightwing/Dick Grayson, Alfred, Kathy Kane, James Gordon, and Anthony Zucco belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
Any others you don't recognize are mine.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : language; violence. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Birds of a Feather

* * *

* * *

Conversations

* * *

"He can see you now, Mr. Wayne." 

"Thanks, Cynthia. And haven't I asked you to call me Bruce?" Bruce smiled at Commissioner Gordon's secretary, mildly amused as he saw a faint blush on her cheeks. He passed her desk and opened the door into Gordon's office, crossed the room to shake hands with the middle-aged, gray-haired man who rose to his feet to greet him. 

"Commissioner. Hope I'm not interrupting." 

"Not at all, Bruce, always glad to see you. Sit down." 

Bruce relocated a stack of papers and sat, glancing around at the usual clutter, the piles of file folders and computer printouts, the half-finished cups of coffee on his old friend's desk. Gordon was watching him with a smile. "I know. Never seem to find the time to clear up in here. And I swear the paper has started to reproduce. Every morning there's more of it than there was when I left." 

"The sign of a busy man," Bruce murmured. "Anyway, I don't want to keep you. Just passing by and thought I'd drop in. See what's new." 

"New. There's always something going on. Doubt if you'd find most of it interesting." 

"I heard Batman was around last night." 

"Yes..." Gordon frowned. "He called us in. Stopped a bunch of Anthony Zucco's boys from trashing a restaurant downtown, part of their protection business, I'm sure. They did a number on the place, but it could have been worse. We found them all nicely handcuffed, as usual. They aren't talking to anyone now -- but one of them said a little before he lawyered up. Said that new guy was with Batman." 

"New guy?" 

"Nightwing." Gordon said the name with distaste. "All we need, another one of these costumed characters. I don't know whether to be glad or sorry that he's hooked up with the Batman." 

"How's that? I thought you cooperated with Batman. He's on your side, after all." 

"Well, yes, Batman's a vigilante; and frankly sometimes I think he's not too tightly wrapped -- but he's proved himself over the years. He's been a big help, worked with us -- not out in the open, you know, but he has friends in the department, including me -- but no one knows Nightwing, what he's like or what he's after. Maybe Batman can keep him under control. I hope so. But I'm not glad to have two of them around." 

"Maybe two will be better than one," Bruce said. 

"Hmm. Next thing, you won't be able to walk down the street without bumping into someone in a mask and a cape." 

Bruce smiled at the joke, but brought the conversation back to the subject he was interested in. "So Zucco's still in the protection business." 

"Yeah." Gordon sighed. "He's been at it for over ten years. We haven't been able to touch him so far. But we've got a few leads. Maybe this time..." 

"Leads?" Bruce prompted. "Like what?" 

Gordon smiled. "I always wonder why you seem to find police work so fascinating. It's pretty far from your kind of life, after all. Society, fancy parties, beautiful women... why do you spend your time on asking me questions about thieves and murderers?" 

"The same reason most people watch cop shows, I guess. Curious. And..." 

"I know. You have a personal interest." Their eyes met in a moment of silent communication. "We think Zucco's gearing up for something big. There's been some talk -- a few rumors that he's going after a bigger target this time. Unfortunately, we don't know what it is." 

"Unfortunate... yes," Bruce muttered, hearing a thread of bitterness creep into his voice. "Especially for his next victim." 

"We do the best we can, Bruce." 

He shook himself out of his mood and smiled. "I know, Jim, that wasn't a criticism. We all do what we can. Speaking of which..." He got up. "I'd better leave you to it, and get going. Nice seeing you." 

"Anytime..." 

Bruce turned for a last look as he left, seeing that graying head already bent over the first of a pile of papers on his desk. Gordon had been a good friend over the years, first as a social acquaintance who understood his interest in crime, and later as the Batman's half-reluctant ally. A good friend, and yet, while Gordon could understand why Batman existed, he was too dedicated to the system to ever entirely approve of someone who was so clearly outside it. A shame, really... Bruce watched for another few seconds, and then silently closed the door. 

* * *

"Going out, sir?" Alfred ran an eye over Bruce's shabby jacket, stained shirt, and aging trousers; and reached to straighten his collar. "I take it you're not seeing Miss Kane tonight." 

Bruce snorted. "No. Kathy hasn't had the pleasure of making Matches' acquaintance. Although she might like going out with him; she's an adventurous girl." 

"A good quality in a lady friend of yours." 

"Maybe. But she'll never see this side of me. At least I hope she never does." 

Alfred tightened his lips in that way he had of showing disapproval. "I suppose not, sir," he said distantly. 

Bruce stopped what he was doing to stare at his butler. "You think I should tell her, don't you?" 

"It's hardly my place to-" 

"You know I can't take the risk. The more people who know I'm Batman, the more chance that the wrong people will find out. That could end my career, and it would be dangerous for me, for you, for everyone close to me." 

"So you simply tell no one." 

"_You_ know." 

"Only because I discovered it by accident." 

Bruce sighed, turning away to check his makeup in the mirror again. "Look, it's just not worth the risk. I trust _you_, but..." 

"But not Miss Kane. Or anyone else." When Bruce didn't answer, Alfred surprised him by going on. "Sir, I only say it because I've seen how things have gone with Miss Madison, Miss Page, Miss Vale, to name only the ones who lasted more than a few weeks. How do you ever expect to have a real relationship with a woman if you won't be honest with her?" 

"Who said I expect to have a real relationship?" 

"It might contribute to a more normal life-" 

"I'm perfectly aware my life will never be 'normal,'" Bruce said evenly. "That will be all, Alfred. Don't wait up," he added coolly. 

"Very well, sir. I apologize if I said anything out of place." Alfred's voice was completely unrepentant. 

As he listened to the butler's footsteps reach the top of the stairway and fade into the house above, Bruce tried to return his attention to his own disguised face in the mirror. But Alfred's words had struck home more than he liked. 

It was all true, he would most likely never become truly close to a woman, not when he was hiding the most important part of his life from her. Not when he was forced to lie on an almost daily basis. Not when every woman seemed to end up either despising his playboy pose or realizing she would never break through the barriers around him. Perhaps his previous relationships would have ended anyway. Some of them at least. But perhaps not... 

Julie Madison. She had been from the same social background as he was, rich, beautiful, involved in the even more glamorous world of acting. They had seemed to have everything in common, on the surface. He had asked her to marry him, before his Batman career had started and he had fully realized the difficulties involved. Even while engaged to Julie, he had never told her the truth. Maybe she had sensed it; they had become distant; she had come to disapprove of his apparent failure to do anything constructive with his life. When she had gotten an offer from Hollywood, she had taken it and discarded their engagement -- and him -- like a snake shedding its skin. Not a fair comparison; he couldn't entirely blame her; but the sudden rejection still hurt. 

Then Linda Page. Very different from Julie's cool classiness; she was a warm, kind person, not rich, not glamorous, a woman who had to work for a living and did it as a nurse. They had been close... but not close enough for commitment, not close enough for him to consider revealing his secret. She also had started to wonder why he seemed to be wasting his life on parties and idleness, and why she was left out of so much of it, and their relationship had eventually cooled. 

Vicki Vale. He still smiled when he remembered her. Vicki, the photographer with ambitions of becoming an important reporter. Vicki, who was aggressive, bold, completely dedicated to her career; something he could certainly understand. She had pursued him both as Bruce and as Batman. For a time, she had made a determined effort to discover Batman's identity, and had suspected Bruce. He realized now he had enjoyed their lively battle of wits more than he had enjoyed the woman herself. But that had ended too; she had taken an out-of-town assignment and disappeared from his life. 

Now there was Kathy. In a way the best of both worlds; she came from a poor but unusual background, had worked for a living most of her life, but was a part of his social circle now. He had noticed her right away, seeming a little awkward and out of place, a moth among the social butterflies, almost as much of a misfit as he felt himself to be. Then he had discovered her refreshing honesty, her humor, her warmth. Kathy was special. 

But it didn't change anything. What it came down to was the fact that no matter how much he liked a woman or how much he might feel she was special to him, he couldn't afford to trust her with his greatest secret. Too much chance that she wouldn't understand how vital it was that she tell no one, ever. Too much chance that she wouldn't understand what he was trying to do, or why. How could she? How could anyone who hadn't experienced the things he had? 

Maybe it would be different someday, maybe if he fell in love... but no, love wasn't for him. _Too dangerous,_ his mind cautioned, before he pushed the thought away. Better to keep things the way they were, casual, that way no one got hurt. That way, he didn't have to wonder what would happen to a woman who loved him when he finally got himself killed. And he didn't have to wonder how he would feel, if he lost another person he loved. 

* * *

The same bar, the same people. Ponytail and Snake wouldn't be here, of course, unless they were already out on bail. No one else from Zucco's gang seemed to be around, either. Bruce moistened his lips with a glass of beer and tried not to be obvious as he surveyed the room, looking for familiar faces, anyone who might know about Zucco's latest plans, and might be persuaded to let something slip. 

His eyes narrowed for a moment as the door opened, and a young man walked in, average size, dark hair, unhappy eyes. Robbie. He'd wondered, even hoped he would show up. Bruce turned back to the bar, a furtive glance in the mirrored wall showing the young man look around, spot him, and hesitate. 

Definitely something about that kid... Maybe his youth, maybe the way he seemed out of place here. Bruce knew he was a fair judge of character, a necessity in his line of work. Robbie had none of the hard quality he saw in most of the men he came into contact with in dark, smoky bars and back alleys. There was something hidden about him, something Bruce instinctively understood without quite knowing what it was. 

Robbie sat on the stool next to Bruce without quite looking at him, ordered a beer and sat staring into it, turning the glass in his hands moodily. Bruce let a few minutes go by, waiting until there was no one near enough to overhear them, before leaning a little closer. 

"Where are your friends tonight, kid?" 

Brown eyes glanced at him for only a half-second. "In jail. But you knew that, didn't you?" 

"I hear things." 

"I bet you do." Just a hint of a smile lightened his profile. 

"They haven't been bailed out?" 

"Zucco figures if they screwed up, let them pay the price. He's not big on loyalty. Besides, he's got other things on his mind." 

Bruce studied their reflections in the mirror, waiting, but Robbie sank back into silence, his face unrevealing. And yet, there was a subtle tension in that expression, something just under the surface that told Bruce the younger man was troubled, by something very disturbing. He decided to take a chance. 

"At the risk of offending you again, I'll repeat; you don't seem like the same kind as Zucco and his bunch." 

"And you don't sound the same as last night." Definitely a smile this time, as Robbie's eyes turned to look at him sideways. 

"We all got our good days and our bad days, kid." 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"How'd you get mixed up with them, anyway?" 

"Bad luck?" He shrugged. "Like I said last night, my business is my business. But I know what I'm doing." 

"Famous last words... How old are you, anyway?" 

"Old enough, old man." 

Bruce chuckled, and again saw the flash of a smile, a glimpse of warm and lively humor in the face that turned to him, before it was hidden again under a guarded look. "What happened to you last night?" he asked after a moment. "You were with Snake and the guy with the ponytail. Were you mixed up in that restaurant job?" 

"I was there." 

"But you got away." 

"Uh huh." 

"Zucco must be mad. Four of his boys in jail. Bet he's thinking about doing something big now, something to prove he hasn't lost his touch." 

"Could be." Robbie bent his eyes into his beer again, then seemed to reach a decision and looked up. "Yeah. He wants to do something big... not just because of last night. He wants a bigger reputation. Wants to impress people... and he doesn't care who gets hurt." 

"That's nothing new for Tony Zucco." 

"Nope. But this time, it could be more than trashing a restaurant or beating someone up. I know he's killed people before, but..." Robbie's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. "This time, a lot of people could get hurt. Killed." 

Bruce watched him carefully as he lowered his voice still more and said, "You sound like you don't like the idea." 

"Maybe you're right, I'm not the same kind as them." He put down his untouched glass of beer and climbed off the stool. 

"Wait a second, kid," Bruce protested. "What about what Zucco's planning? Throw me a bone here. Maybe I can get in on it." 

"Maybe." Robbie stared at him, then his face firmed and he leaned closer. "Will you help me stop it?" he asked, his voice so low Bruce wasn't quite sure he had heard correctly. 

"What makes you think I can stop it? Or that I want to?" he asked just as quietly. 

"We made a good team last night, didn't we?" The flash of a smile again, then Robbie stepped past his barstool, for a moment moving so close that his breath warmed Bruce's ear as he said very softly, "Canin building. Tomorrow midnight. And I told you to stop calling me 'kid.'" 

* * *

TBC... 


	4. Midnight

Batman/Bruce Wayne, Nightwing/Dick Grayson, Alfred, Kathy Kane, James Gordon, and Anthony Zucco belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
Any others you don't recognize are mine.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : language; violence. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Birds of a Feather

* * *

* * *

Midnight

* * *

"Zucco... Zucco..." Bruce muttered the name, scowling as he flipped rapidly through old newspaper stories. He kept a considerable library in the Batcave, files, both computerized and not, indexes, records of the lives and careers of a considerable number of Gotham City's most notorious criminals. Anthony Zucco was no exception. His file was fat, stretching back for more than ten years. 

Small time protection rackets... victimizing the local businesses in the suburbs north of Gotham; bars, restaurants, nightclubs. Vandalism, beatings, a few murders. Nothing proven, nothing that could stand up in court. Zucco was smart, and he had muscle. Witnesses tended to disappear, the cops mysteriously failed to follow up. His men went to jail -- a few of them, once in a while, but the boss kept his nose clean. 

It had taken him awhile to work his way into the big city, but he'd done it successfully and been here for maybe five years, expanding his operations. Now he was after bigger game. The Canin building. Bruce turned to his computer next, staring thoughtfully at the information displayed on the screen. 

A construction site this time. A new building, part of the city's reclamation project in Eastside. It was ambitious, an office building intended to create new jobs, improve the neighborhood, and bring in business. Funded partly by the city, partly by private industry, the construction being done by a local company as the first step in providing those jobs... Zucco was after protection money again, no doubt, but from whom? Or was he simply going to destroy it to prove how powerful he was? To frighten his future targets? 

Didn't matter... the important thing was to stop him. And that brought Bruce's mind back to Robbie. To Nightwing. Why was he involved in this? There had to be a reason. Bruce frowned. A moment of violence and loss in his own past was what had put him into the cape and cowl, what had created Batman and kept him going. Was there some similar demon driving Nightwing? Something involving Zucco? That had to be it. 

Whatever it was, maybe it was in these files. Somewhere... With a sigh, Bruce picked up the oldest folder, glancing over the contents. A set of crimes in a small town north of Gotham. Newton. Assault, destruction of property, a suspicious accident in a circus. He settled down to read. 

* * *

"Sir?" 

The shrill summons of the phone had brought him out of the dark world of crime and suffering that was Tony Zucco's history. Bruce had answered it absently, half of his mind still on the article he was reading. "Yes, Alfred?" 

"Sir, Miss Kane is here." 

"Kathy? What's she doing- Oh, shit, we had a date, didn't we?" 

"She appears to believe so, sir." 

"Dammit... Okay, I'll be right up. Have her wait in the living room." 

* * *

"You forgot, didn't you?" Kathy didn't even say hello, her eyes flashing with annoyance. 

Bruce noted in passing that it made her even prettier. He grinned, suppressing his own irritation, both at the interruption and at himself. "You know me, Kath. A complete airhead. Sorry." 

"Airhead. Right." She stared at him, her expression harder than he had ever seen it. "Are we still going out?" 

"Um..." Bruce consulted his watch. "It's nine... I know we were supposed to go dancing, but I have to be somewhere by midnight. We still have time for dinner." 

"You have to be somewhere." 

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise." He moved closer, raising a hand to brush his fingers over her cheek, smiling the smile that usually made any woman melt. 

Kathy's temperature appeared unchanged as she met his eyes steadily. "What could you possibly have to do at midnight?" 

He shrugged, still smiling. "You know... business. Don't want to bore you with the details." 

"Try me. I think I might find it very interesting." 

"Look, it's not another woman, if that's what you're thinking." 

"Bruce, I don't know _what_ to think." Kathy sighed, her face shifting into unhappiness. "I know something's going on with you. You disappear, you break our dates, you always have some mysterious business you have to take care of in the middle of the night." She faced him, raising her chin. "I've tried to respect your privacy. Tried to be patient and understanding. But it's just too much. I keep imagining all kinds of things you might be keeping from me." 

Bruce dropped his gaze from her questioning eyes to the floor. "It's got nothing to do with you." 

"If it's not another woman... is it another man?" 

"Don't be silly." 

"Are you in trouble? Are you involved in something dangerous? Something illegal?" 

"I -- I'm not doing anything wrong." 

"Won't you tell me? I care about you, Bruce. Maybe I could even help." 

"No." With an effort, he plastered his habitual casual smile on his face. "Just trust me, Kathy. It's nothing you need to be concerned about." 

"Trust you. But you won't trust _me_..." She searched his face for another few moments and then turned to pick up the purse she had left lying on the sofa. "All right, Bruce. Have it your own way." 

"Where are you going?" 

She turned with her hand on the doorknob. "Home. I don't much feel like dinner. And I'm sure you'd rather spend your time getting ready for your 'business.'" 

"Kathy..." 

But she was gone, her heels clicking rapidly across the foyer, then the front door closing. Bruce hesitated, he started to go after her, took a few steps... but then it seemed to make more sense to let her go; let her cool off first, he'd talk to her later. And his thoughts were already returning to his research, and to the night ahead. Kathy would keep. It only occurred to him for an instant that he had wished for her to show more of a serious interest in him, to care more about what he did. Be careful what you wish for. 

"I take it the young lady is not returning." Alfred's voice from the doorway was at its most prim and proper. Showing disapproval. Again. 

"Not tonight, anyway. Just as well. I have other things to take care of." 

"Things that are more important than Miss Kane?" 

Bruce sighed, turning to look at him. "Yes, Alfred. Zucco may be making his move tonight. People could die. I think that's more important than my love life, such as it is." 

"Zucco? What's he going to do?" 

"That's what I have to find out. All I have now is a tip, that something's up at the Canin building, at midnight." 

"A tip? Perhaps it could be another trap." 

"I don't think so. This one came from Nightwing. I think I can trust him. And I intend to find out more about him." Bruce crossed the room and stepped out, pausing for a moment to face Alfred again. "I have a little more research to do, and then I'm going." He started in the direction of his study, and the stairway down to the Batcave. 

"Sir..." 

"Yes?" 

"Do be careful." 

Bruce turned, and smiled. "I always am. Don't worry, I'll be back." 

* * *

"Jesus, could have told me a street corner or something," Batman muttered to himself. He looked up at the building from the shelter of deep shadows between a set of construction trailers at the edge of the site. It loomed above him, like a dark and ghostly skeleton in the night. Not a building yet, not really, still a framework of girders, columns, beams, and joists, attended by a few cranes, now silent and idle above a litter of tools and supplies. 

It was still a few minutes before midnight. If Nightwing was already here, he was invisible in the jagged pattern of shadows across the ground, or possibly up in the building somewhere. Batman slipped closer, scanning the landscape of blackness and patches of silvery light from the full moon hanging above, watching for a hint of midnight blue. Then he stopped to look around. Where would _he_ be, if he wanted to watch the building? Above ground, where no one would be likely to see him, but where he would have a good view -- and be able to move in quickly -- like the low rooftop of that building on the other end of the block... 

As he got closer, movement caught his eye. A dark form materialized above, standing for just a moment to stare down, like the first time they had seen each other. Nightwing nodded, and stepped back. When Batman reached the top of the fire escape, he was crouched behind the low brick wall at the edge, face turned, white teeth gleaming momentarily as he smiled. 

"Found me." 

"Yeah. Figured this was where _I'd_ go." Batman settled down next to him, propping his back against a crumbling chimney before asking, "What are we looking for?" 

"Just what I told you. Zucco's planning something big here tonight. He's going to blow up the building." 

Batman blinked at him. "Blow it up? Explosives?" 

"That's right." Nightwing's masked eyes turned to him again. "He wants to make a statement. Scare his -- customers -- into paying up. And scare off the competition." 

"If all this construction comes down..." 

"I know. The buildings around it will be damaged. Several of them are apartment buildings. People will be hurt, killed." A fist clenched on his knee. "Why do you think I want to stop him?" 

"Do you have proof of this? Anything that'll stand up in court, that we can use to nail Zucco himself?" 

"Just what I've heard myself. But I'll testify. And..." He glanced at Batman again. "Zucco's going to be here himself tonight. Wants to supervise in person." 

"If we can catch him here..." 

"That's right." 

"When?" 

"Any time now." 

Batman hesitated. "Okay. I'll wait until they show. Then I'll call the cops and make sure they don't get a chance to plant those explosives." 

"You mean _we'll_ make sure." 

"Look, kid, this is going to be dangerous. Let me handle it." 

"No way." There was no softness, youthful or otherwise, in the face turned to him now. "You're only here because I want to make sure. Zucco is _mine_. I'm going to be in on getting him, all the way." 

"This is personal for you, isn't it?" 

"Zucco -- took something from me. Yeah, it's personal." 

"You joined his gang, as Robbie. If they had found out, you'd be dead, quickly and painfully. Risked your life again, as Nightwing, to fight them." 

"There was no other way. Yeah, I got into his gang, to find a way to put him away for good. But I couldn't let his goons go on with their business, hurt more people, not when I knew about it... So I did the only thing I could, became Nightwing, so I could stop them without blowing my cover." 

"And you imitated _me_, didn't you?" 

"I guess," The admission sounded reluctant. "Seemed like a good idea. It was a way to fight them, to stop the kind of thing that-" He stopped abruptly. 

"To stop the kind of thing that happened to _you_? Whatever it was that Zucco did to you, whatever makes it so personal?" 

"Something like that." Batman could see Nightwing's chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. "So why do _you_ do it?" he asked, his voice defiant. "You've been at it a lot longer than me. Why? You must have a reason, too." 

"Yes, I've got a reason." He paused, still seeing tension in the younger man's posture. "Look, I understand, probably better than you think. But -- this isn't a game. It's deadly serious. You could have died back in that restaurant the other night. You could die tonight. You could be seriously injured, crippled for the rest of your life-" 

"So could you!" 

"I've accepted that possibility. I know I'm unlikely to live to a ripe old age. Too bad, but that's the decision I've made. But it's not a decision I'd recommend for anyone else, especially someone as young as you." 

"I have to do this. No choice." 

"There's always a choice." 

"Not for me. Not where Zucco's concerned." Nightwing raised a hand and brushed his fingers through his hair, visibly calming himself. "Look, I appreciate that you're trying to help. But you might as well just get used to it. I'm staying. For tonight, we're partners." 

"And after tonight?" 

"Worry about that when it comes." Suddenly he sat up a little, eyes trained on the shadowy framework of the building facing them. 

Batman had caught the same sound and movement, a car pulling up to the side of the street. It parked, lights blinking out, then the doors opening and a group of men getting out. Looked like four of them, gathering on the sidewalk, then opening the trunk and pulling a bag out. 

"Looks like it's showtime," he murmured. With a quick movement, he reached to grab Nightwing's arm as he started to get up. "Wait, let me call the cops first." 

"Hurry." 

The tiny, untraceable cellphone he used was already in his hand. The press of a button to autodial, and he was waiting for the familiar voice to answer. _"Gordon here."_

"Commissioner. Zucco's hitting the Canin building. Right now. This is big. Send help." 

_"What? You can't..." _

He hung up. Gordon might protest, but he'd send reinforcements. Now it was up to them to make sure the police didn't arrive too late. 

"Okay," he whispered. "You ready?" 

"I've been ready for this for the last nine years." 

Batman caught his arm again before he could move. "Partners, agreed. But _I_ call the shots. Understand?" 

"Yeah, I understand." 

"Let's do it." 

* * *

TBC... 


	5. In Flight

Batman/Bruce Wayne, Nightwing/Dick Grayson, Alfred, Kathy Kane, James Gordon, and Anthony Zucco belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
Any others you don't recognize are mine.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this. 

Rated PG : language; violence.

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one.

Birds of a Feather

* * *

In Flight

* * *

They moved through a world of silver moonlight and pools of inky shadow, the stark moonscape of a litter of construction equipment and supplies; strange machines sitting silent and still, the building's framework rising into the sky above them. Batman was gratified to notice that Nightwing was able to move without sound as they slipped closer, following the murmur of voices carried on the night air. 

A backhoe provided cover as they watched three of the men they were stalking stop at the temporary elevator the workers used, an open-sided cage without a door. The three paused, waiting for their last member to catch up as he picked his way over the uneven ground.

Anthony Zucco. He was older than the others, short and thick, a barrel of a body and a round, pudgy face with a cigar stuck in it; an ugly appearance to match the ugliness inside. Batman glanced at his companion, seeing him staring intently, eyes narrowed. In the near silence, the criminals' voices came to them clearly.

Zucco pulled the cigar from his mouth and waved it at a man in a plaid jacket. "Lester, you stay down here as lookout," he said. "Bring the plastique, boys. We'll plant it farther up."

Batman recognized the other two. One was Zucco's main lieutenant, Archie Silver, better known by the charming and appropriate nickname of Blade. The other was Norm Martin, no nickname but an equally bad reputation. Blade picked up the bag and they both followed their boss. A moment later, with a whine of machinery, they were being lifted into the air.

Shadowy movement caught Batman's eye and he turned his head to see Nightwing moving away, circling to get behind Lester, who was watching the elevator rise. He followed, caught up, reached out -- but Nightwing evaded him and darted forward, sliding an escrima stick from its holder on his back. There was only a faint crack as it swung into the back of the lookout's neck. He fell, and lay still.

"Dammit, I told you to follow my orders," Batman hissed in an angry whisper.

"Did you have a better idea? We had to take him out."

Batman glared at him for another moment, but there was no time for an argument. "Okay. What's done is done." He looked up, watching the elevator car still rising. "Look, fighting them up there is going to be dangerous. I'm used to this kind of thing, but if you're not a trained acrobat or gymnast-"

"Don't worry about me. Come on, they're stopping."

"All right." Batman gave his temporary partner a -- hopefully -- intimidating look. "Stay back. I'll take them on, you go after the explosive. Got it?"

"I've got it."

"Climb up behind me. Emphasis on _behind_." Hoping he had made an impression this time, Batman looked up again and reached into his utility belt for his rope, bringing out a small device resembling an airgun. He aimed and squeezed the trigger, hearing a soft swoosh as it fired, sending the line and the small hook fastened to its end arcing up to loop around a cross girder just inches from the column they were standing next to. It caught the first time, and after testing it with a pull, he began to climb.

Glancing back, Batman saw Nightwing swinging a thin rope above his head and then tossing it up to land very near his own line and catch on its own hook. He shook his head briefly. Doing it on his own, trying to prove himself most likely, actually pretty understandable -- as long as he didn't get himself killed doing it.

They climbed, stopping for a few seconds on each floor to throw the ropes up again. Nightwing was doing okay, pulling himself up with impressive strength and endurance, taking his cues from Batman, needing only the occasional nod or gesture. He was behaving himself, for now, and they seemed to have fallen into the same smooth teamwork that had worked so well in the restaurant. A strange feeling. _Partner._ Somehow it seemed almost natural. But this would be the end of it, Batman promised himself, he wasn't going to let this kid have the same kind of life he had, assuming he had any life at all if he kept this up.

Then there was no more time for such thoughts as they paused on the floor beneath Zucco and his men, peering up, taking a moment to rest. Batman beckoned and led the way to the opposite side of the building, where they could make the final climb without taking the risk of being seen. Another minute and he was going up again, cautiously approaching the same level as Zucco and his men, feeling the stretch and pull of his muscles as they began to protest. He swung a leg onto the metal surface, pushed himself up to a kneeling position as Nightwing joined him, waiting to make sure they hadn't been spotted.

"I'll draw them off. You get the plastique," he whispered.

"Whatever you say, boss."

With a frown, Batman rose to his feet, taking a moment to size up their surroundings as the chill night breeze wrapped his cape around his body. Girders crisscrossed the space that would someday be a floor. Here and there patches of planking had been laid across them, providing temporary flooring for the workers. The long drop to the ground showed darkly in the spaces in between. The gang was on the other side, on one of those slightly safer temporary floors. They seemed absorbed in what they were doing, one of them crouching, preparing the explosive undoubtedly.

They held on to the column while Batman decided which direction to move in. Had to cross on these girders, a balancing act, only a narrow bar of metal between them and a deadly fall. At least the wind was steady, and not very strong. He took another look at his companion. "We have to walk on these girders," he said softly. "Can you do it?"

"Just watch me."

"Don't look down. Keep your eyes on where you're headed."

"Jesus, stop worrying about me, will you? I've flown without a net before."

Interesting... With a mental shrug, Batman turned and led the way. Familiar feelings gripped him in the quiet night, moving through black bands of shadow cast in the moonlight by the beams above them; heading into another battle, knowing this one might well be his last. How many times had he done this? How many more times would there be? He felt the same mixture of exhilaration and terror that always gripped him, and welcomed it, welcomed the surge of energy and alertness that came with it. The day he stopped being afraid was the day he would die.

They crossed, Nightwing right behind him, apparently unaffected by the height. Clung to the next column. Repeated the process, getting closer to their goal; Zucco and his boys, finishing their task. Batman stopped and waved his companion back to cover. Then -- a moment to steady himself, to push the fear down, to control and even use it. And he stepped out into the open.

Voices drifted to him faintly. Zucco's harsh tones; "Just the top of the building. That'll put a scare into them. If they don't pay up, next time-"

"Look, over there! Someone on the girder!" Blade had seen him first. The others swung around to stare.

Batman heard Zucco's low exclamation of, "The Batman! Get him!"

A quick movement, and he melted behind a column as the guns came out. Fingers reaching into his belt, then he was taking aim and sending a batarang zipping through the air, hitting Martin in the head, sending him reeling back. The pistol fell from his hand, bounced, and plunged over the edge of their small patch of flooring. Batman smiled fractionally. One less gun to worry about.

And then he ducked back as they began to shoot, another batarang in his hand, waiting for his chance... but there was the sudden sound of impact, accompanied by yelps of pain and surprise. Batman risked a quick look and saw Nightwing, not safely hidden as ordered but dropping from a rope he had obviously used to swing right into the midst of the gang. He landed, pulled out his sticks again, and swung one at Blade, disarming him. Another movement, almost too fast to follow, and Martin was down, hit solidly in the back of the head.

Batman cursed, took quick aim, and threw, hitting Zucco in the wrist as he was about to fire, feeling a moment's satisfaction as he watched the gun sail through the air and vanish. Blade's pistol seemed to be gone, too. Good, he hated guns. But the fight wasn't over. Blade fell back on his weapon of choice, moonlight gleaming from the edge of the knife he was now holding. He feinted, driving Nightwing back a step.

"Stand still, Bat-boy," he growled. "I'll make this fast."

"The name's Nightwing. And you'll never get near me."

Zucco bent to pick up a discarded crowbar and began to close in on them as Nightwing backed closer to the side of the building. Batman started forward, running across the last girder between him and their patch of flooring. And then the unexpected happened. Nightwing dodged another jab of the knife -- and slipped on the surface of the girder at the outer edge of the building, losing his balance. As he teetered, Blade came at him again, swinging the knife, forcing him to twist away. Nightwing looked down -- struggled for footing -- and then toppled over, disappearing from view.

"_Nooo!_" Batman hardly recognized his own voice as he cried out in denial. Another life cut off right in front of his eyes, a life that had begun to mean something to him... He froze in horror, but only for an instant. There was nothing more he could do -- except to take revenge on the killers. With a leap he barreled into Zucco, knocking him flat with a savage backhand, and then turned on Blade.

"I'll make sure you fry for that!" he snarled.

"Yeah? You have to get past _this_ first!" The knife caught the light, flashing as he slashed. But Batman slid away, turned sideways, and kicked, catching Blade in the gut and slamming him backwards into a column. He hit hard and rebounded, stunned for the split-second it took Batman to grab his wrist, sending the knife clattering to the flooring.

"I should save everyone the trouble and take care of you myself..." Batman grasped Blade by the collar and wrapped his fingers around his neck, watching his eyes widen in fear. If only... if only that would bring back the young man he had already begun to like more than he had realized... but nothing would, not even killing this slimeball.

"Nice to know you care, but I'm not dead yet!" The shout came from below. Startled, Batman dragged his captive closer to the edge and looked over, to be greeted by an unexpected and very welcome sight. Nightwing was climbing to his feet on a girder suspended from one of the tall construction cranes, perhaps twelve feet below them and ten feet away from the side of the building.

Relief almost made him smile -- but not quite. There was still business to take care of. Batman tightened his grip on Blade again. "Your good luck he's not dead," he said, letting his voice drop into the silky murmur they all seemed to find so menacing. "But you're not off the hook. You came here to blow up this building, and the cops will have plenty of evidence. But I want more than that on Zucco. And you know plenty."

"I'm not talking!"

"It's a long way down..." Batman turned, balancing Blade on the very edge of the girder, letting him look into the darkness below.

"You -- you won't do it...!"

Unfortunately, he was right -- but _he_ didn't know that. As they stared at each other, a sound split the air; sirens, police cars pulling up. Not much time left. "Think I won't kill you?" Batman asked softly, seeing Blade's eyes get rounder and wider. "You must be confusing me with Superman... If it's not today, it'll be someday soon... sometime when you're least expecting it... every shadow in the night might be me, every time you come home I could be waiting for you... you won't even be safe in jail, if Zucco gets off..."

"No... No!" Blade gasped as one of his feet slipped on the edge.

"Or maybe right now... no one would see if I just let you fall, would they? No one would care..." Batman lifted him slightly, letting him look over the edge again.

"All right! I'll say whatever you want!"

The next events were so quick, he had no time to react, or even to fully realize what was happening until it was too late to stop it. Batman blinked as light stabbed up from below, seeming very bright after the silvery illumination of the moon and distant streetlights. Zucco's voice shouted, "_Rat!_" behind him, and a heavy body crashed into him, shoving hard, and then he was over the edge, falling, seeing the ground so far below, nothing to hold on to, Blade screaming as he fell also...

Something dark flashed into his view, black and midnight blue, a hand reaching out as he instinctively grabbed at it. They grasped each other's wrists as Nightwing flew over him. Then, with an abrupt jerk, he was no longer falling. Batman looked up to see the other man holding on to a girder with one arm, the other supporting him as they swung back and forth for a few seconds.

"Hang on," Batman said, as he pulled his rope-gun from his belt.

"Don't worry... about me..." But Nightwing's voice was strained.

It took only a moment to attach a rope to the beam and lower himself to the next level. Another for Nightwing to grab the rope and slide down. He landed, and stood hunched, rubbing his shoulder.

"You okay? You took quite a jolt with that arm," Batman said.

"Yeah. Ever think about losing weight?" Nightwing moved his arm gingerly, winced, but added only, "I'll be all right."

"Come on, we have to get out of here."

"What about Zucco?" Nightwing looked up.

Batman nodded downward, at the police visible below. "The only way down for him is that elevator. A dozen cops saw him push Blade and me over. I don't think we need to worry about him anymore."

They both looked down for another moment. Flashlights moved across the ground, converging on the spot where Blade lay until he was the center of a pool of light. He had fallen onto a pile of long metal spikes, and a few of them had gone through him, casting shadows over still-flowing trails of blood. Batman gave the gruesome scene only a glance before turning away, but Nightwing stared, and began to sway unsteadily.

"Come on," Batman said gently, taking his arm.

Together, they moved towards the other side of the building, fastened their ropes, and descended the floors in silence, finally reaching street level. Luckily, the police hadn't reached this side yet, and it was sheltered from the lights. But it was bright enough for Batman to recognize the look on Nightwing's face.

"Hold it down," he said. "Just until we get to the other side of the street."

He found a garbage can in a dark spot, watched Nightwing double up over it, listened to him retch, awkwardly patted his shoulder, handed him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth with, and waited for him to recover.

"Guess you think I'm a total wuss now," the younger man said finally, his voice still a little unsteady.

"It wasn't a wuss who caught me in midair. You saved my life."

"Not going to say you could have saved your own neck?"

"Not this time. Feel better now?"

Nightwing shrugged. "It's over... all over." He turned away, starting for the street.

"Wait!" Batman called. "You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah. Just -- need to go home..." But he paused after another step. "Thanks," he said softly. And was gone.

* * *

TBC... 


	6. Without a Net

Batman/Bruce Wayne, Nightwing/Dick Grayson, Alfred, Kathy Kane, James Gordon, and Anthony Zucco belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
Any others you don't recognize are mine.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Parts, especially Chapter 5, were based on 'Robin, the Boy Wonder', Detective Comics 38, 1940. 

End of the story, but as of now I'm planning to extend it into a series, and have a definite idea of future events for this version of Bruce, Dick, and Kathy. 

Many thanks to everyone who read, even more to everyone who reviewed. I appreciate the feedback. Special thanks to Rach (aka The Fink) for invaluable help in fine-tuning the fight scenes in Chapter 5; and for ensuring I kept Alfred suitably English. Also to Chris, for some interesting email conversations. 

Rated PG : language; violence. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Birds of a Feather

* * *

* * *

Without a Net

* * *

There wasn't much light, but he was used to that. Batman circled the small room, looking around curiously, and then clicked a small table lamp on and settled into an old and worn armchair. There was a framed picture on the table under the lamp. He picked it up. A man and woman in circus costumes with a young boy between them, posing for the camera with big bright smiles. Very different from the portrait hanging in his study where he could see it every time he came up from the Batcave. And yet, the same. 

It had been two weeks now since the battle at the Canin building. For the first week he had wondered whether Nightwing would ever appear again. The young man had done what he had set out to do, after all, avenged the crime that had been committed against him and his family. But somehow, Batman knew it wouldn't be that simple. He sighed, and set the picture down again. If it had been him... if and when he caught up with the man owning that shadowy face he had seen once so many years ago but knew he would never forget; if -- no, _when_ he settled that most important account -- Batman would not be done, his mission would not end there. And, as he had somehow known would happen, Nightwing had been back, stopping a mugging here, breaking up a gang fight there. 

It was quiet, too, except for the faint sound of a clock ticking in another room. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax, and think. Probably a mistake, as his mind drifted to uncomfortable places. 

He had tried calling Kathy in the last two weeks. She had been busy, with that subtle quality in her voice of a woman who's saying 'no' but doesn't want it to hurt. Then he had seen her at a party only two days ago. Still beautiful -- what did he expect? -- laughing with a group of friends, her eyes sparkling until she caught sight of him. Then her smile had become forced and brittle. They had drifted together, and spoken, briefly and with the awkwardness of a couple who knows it's over but hasn't quite acknowledged it yet. 

_"How have you been, Bruce?" _

"Fine. And you?" 

"Fine." 

"Nice party, isn't it?" 

"Very nice." 

"Well. I see someone I want to talk to. Look, Kathy, if you want to get together, just give me a call." 

"I will. It -- it was nice to see you." 

"You too." 

All very civilized, very friendly. But he knew he had lost her, just as he'd lost Julie, Linda, and Vicki. And knew he could get her back, if he tried. But it would require too much of a sacrifice. Trust. Honesty. The revelation of thoughts and feelings he had never exposed to anyone. Things he just couldn't give, not to someone who had no chance of understanding. 

It had hit him hard, that night, when he returned to a dark and empty house, Alfred gone to bed, no one there to greet him. He had seldom felt so alone, abandoned by the rest of humanity. But in all honesty, he had been isolated even in a crowd of his friends, because none of them knew him, not the real him, not the things he kept inside. 

Alfred... he knew the secret but he didn't know the truth, the reality; not how it felt to be the Batman, not the darkness of his world, the burden it was or the trap it had become. From him there had only been more disapproval, when Bruce told him he and Kathy were through. 

_"You might try telling her the truth, sir." _

"You know I can't do that." 

"I know no such thing. Sir." 

"Then take my word for it." 

Playing the good butler, he had nodded, and turned to go about his business. But Bruce had caught his muttered, _"Bloody 'ell,"_ just as Alfred had intended him to. Bloody hell indeed. 

Was that the real reason he was here? Simple loneliness? No... he was here to reach out to someone who perhaps could understand, someone very much like himself, that much was true. But it was for Nightwing's sake he was here, not his own. Or that's what he told himself, as footsteps sounded outside the door. As a key turned in the lock, Batman got up, turned off the lamp and faded into the shadows of the bedroom doorway. 

The door opened, and a young man in jeans and a t-shirt appeared, reaching for the light switch and then closing the door. He turned around. Then he froze abruptly, falling back a step as Batman moved into view. 

"Hello, Robbie. Or should I say Richard Grayson?" 

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Had to give him credit for a fast recovery; he seemed more angry than anything else. 

"Thought we should talk." 

"How did you get in?" 

"The bedroom window. You really should get a better lock." 

"Shit. You always break into people's homes when you want to talk to them?" 

"Only when it's convenient. Sit down." 

"What the hell do you want?" 

"I want you to sit down, Dick. That's what your friends call you, isn't it?" 

"What makes you think we're friends?" For a few more seconds he just glared. Then he sat on the couch, as far away as he could get, as Batman went back to the armchair. "How did you find me?" he demanded, resentment still sharp in his voice. 

"You let a few things slip." 

"Yeah? Like what?" 

Batman smiled briefly. "Flying without a net, remember? You used a circus expression, and only a trained acrobat could have saved me from that fall the way you did. And you said you'd been waiting nine years to get Zucco. Nine years ago Zucco was headquartered in Newton, when the Haly Circus played there. Two acrobats, a married couple, were killed in a fall. I have it in my files as a suspicious accident, the kind Zucco specialized in." 

"Accident. Yeah. That was the official finding." Dick's voice was still filled with bitter anger, but Batman knew it was no longer directed at him. 

He leaned forward, softening his voice. "The Flying Graysons died when their trapeze ropes broke during their act. I know how careful acrobats are with ropes -- impossible that both would have broken at the same time. They were weakened, cut part way, weren't they?" 

Dick shook his head. "It was acid. I saw him do it... Blade... Saw him hanging around the equipment before the show started. I -- I didn't understand. If only I'd told someone..." 

"You were only twelve years old. You didn't know." 

"Yeah." But his face was still pinched with pain. "After the 'accident' happened, I went to see Mr. Haly, the circus owner. To tell him what I'd seen. But they were there, Blade and two more men. They didn't see me, but I listened. They threatened Mr. Haly. Said if he didn't pay, something worse would happen." Dick looked up, staring at him, but obviously seeing the shadow of that remembered fear and grief. "They killed my mom and dad for money. For money!" 

"What did you do?" 

"I waited, and talked to Mr. Haly after they left. I wanted to go to the police, but he said Zucco controlled the cops in that town; if I told them what I knew, I'd be dead too." 

"He was right. Smart man." 

"We cut our tour short and left town." Dick dropped his gaze to his own hands, clenched tightly on his knees. "I was taken away. Put in an orphanage. No living relatives, and they wouldn't let the circus folks keep me. Too old to be adopted. Stayed in a couple of foster homes. At eighteen I was on my own." 

"And you moved to Gotham. Because this is where Zucco is." 

"Right. Took me a year to save up enough to come here. Eventually I got a job in one of the places Zucco's boys hang out. Used a fake name, in case any of them remembered the people they murdered years ago... Took a while, but I got them to trust me, got to be part of the gang." 

"And then you created Nightwing, in order to stop what they were doing without revealing your identity." 

Dick nodded. "Yeah. I was afraid if I went to the cops they'd try to stop me, so..." He looked up, a hint of self-consciousness in his face. "You were right, I imitated you. Named myself after you. I always -- I kind of admired you. Putting your neck on the line to do the right thing." He hesitated before going on quietly, "I guess I had the idea all along. I always kept up my acrobatic skills the best I could, mostly in school gyms and YMCA's. Took martial arts lessons whenever I could afford it. Knew I wouldn't be as good as you, but I tried." He smiled faintly. "Never thought I'd actually be talking to you, telling you all this." 

Batman let a few moments go by before continuing. "You've done what you wanted to do. Blade is dead. Plenty of witnesses saw Zucco kill him, and from what I hear Martin is going to tell everything he knows, including the murder of your parents, in exchange for the witness protection program. Zucco's going down for a long time. He may even get the death penalty. And you won't need to testify against him; no need for anyone to know you were involved." 

"Yeah." Dick's lips twisted. "I got both of them, finally. But not exactly the way I planned." He sighed, his fingers curling into fists again. "I wanted Blade to go on trial, too. Go to jail. Zucco ordered it, but he's the one who actually killed my parents. I didn't want him to die like that... When he fell, if I could have, I would have saved him, too. Maybe that doesn't make any sense." 

"You don't like to see people die. Makes sense to me." 

Dick rubbed a hand over his face. "After my parents fell, that night -- they put the spotlight on them, while they were lying there. And then when I saw Blade, all lit up that way, with the flashlights, and the blood..." 

"I understand." 

"He died the same way they did. I guess -- maybe that's justice." 

There was another pause, until Batman found himself asking the question that had been haunting him since the moment he had realized why Dick Grayson had become Nightwing, a reason so like his own for creating Batman. "Does it help?" he asked softly. 

"What?" 

"I mean -- you've avenged your parents' deaths. How does it feel?" 

Dick's eyes raised to his face, perhaps wondering what the purpose of that question was. Whatever he saw there prompted him to answer it seriously. "It doesn't bring them back. It doesn't make up for the last nine years. But -- I guess it helps. A little." 

"What now? You could just retire Nightwing. Walk away from this, have a normal life. But you're going on with it, aren't you?" 

"Yeah. I've thought about it. This is what I want." 

Batman wasn't even sure why he asked the next question, except that it was something he might have to ask himself someday. "Why? Are you sure it's not just that you've spent so long trying to catch your parents' killers that you don't know what else to do with your life?" 

For a moment he thought Dick might be angry. But he answered calmly. "Maybe that's part of it. But there are lots of other people who are victims, like me and my parents. Lots of people who'll be victims in the future. If I can prevent just a little of that -- well, that sounds pretty good to me." 

"It's a hard life. Difficult. Dangerous." 

"I'm not afraid." 

"Think about it first." 

"Nothing to think about. You don't understand. I _have_ to do this." 

"I understand better than you think. We have a lot in common." Now Batman looked away, staring into the distance unseeingly. The idea was back, stronger than ever, the idea he had rejected the first few times it had occurred to him. Was it what he really wanted? Was he capable of doing it? 

Trust... It would take that, and more. It would mean breaking a hole in the wall he had built around himself; it would mean risk, letting someone into the most important parts of his life. It could also mean having someone who would truly understand, who could share his struggle, with whom he could shed the deception, the mask Bruce Wayne always wore. 

And almost before he realized it, the decision was made. "You'll need training," he said. "Your fighting skills could use some work. As far as acrobatics, you could probably teach _me_ a few things. Detective techniques, crime scene analysis, I can help you with those too. And you probably don't have much in the way of files, computer resources, general supplies. You can use the Batcave whenever you need to, and we can see about a car for you." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"If you're determined to do this, you might as well do it the right way." Batman sighed as Dick just stared at him blankly. "I'm offering to train and equip you. Face it, you could use the help." He waited. "Well? Will you do it?" 

It took a moment as Dick hesitated, studying his face. "What do _you_ get out of it?" he asked abruptly. "Why would you want to do this?" 

"Like I said, we have a lot in common. I look at you, and I can almost see myself... Maybe I can't stop you, and maybe I shouldn't, but maybe I can help." 

A lot in common. For an instant he had an odd feeling, a sense of inevitability, as if fate had brought them together at last after nine years; as he remembered that night so long ago when he had almost gone out to the circus. What might have happened if he had been there when Dick's parents had died? If things had gone a little differently, could he have helped back then? Would the two of them be sitting here like this now? 

Dick's expression softened, and he nodded tentatively, starting to smile. "Not sure why you think we're so much alike," he said, "but I'm flattered. I guess I'd be a fool to turn it down. Thanks." 

"Good." 

Before he could think about it too long, before he could change his mind, Batman raised his hands to his head and lifted his mask, sliding the cowl off. His face felt naked, exposed, at first... as Bruce Wayne looked up to see Dick Grayson staring at him in astonishment. He leaned forward in the chair. 

"I was only ten years old when it happened. My parents and I had gone to a movie, and we were walking back to the car when we took a shortcut through an alley..." 

* The Beginning *


End file.
